Gemotions

The roses were crimson, a splash of colour against the sterile white of the hospital room. He was certain they weren't for him. He'd never liked roses. He hadn't been expecting any flowers, not after...everything. He picked one up, twirling it between his fingers. It was velvety soft.

He watched the doctor’s retreating back, shoulders slumped, and he felt a cold knot tighten in his stomach. The beautiful flowers felt heavy in his hands. He kept his eyes on the floor as his wife came into the room.

Her smile was brittle, her voice hollow. He knew she knew. He knew she'd know. He swallowed, the taste metallic. He felt a deep unease, an unsettling awareness of the space between them. He felt the need to apologize, but found that the words wouldn't come.